


wishing well

by seb



Series: #OmegaSylvainWeek [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Knotting, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb/pseuds/seb
Summary: #OmegaSylvainWeek Day 1: Heat with Sylvain/Claude.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan
Series: #OmegaSylvainWeek [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727707
Comments: 1
Kudos: 51
Collections: Omega Sylvain Week





	wishing well

**Author's Note:**

> I asked my friend if I should make it angsty and he said yes so blame him. Unfortunately these will not be very long but they're something!

“Please,” Sylvain begs, and he’s unsure as to whether or not it’s out loud, or when he started, or if the burning, yawning chasm will ever stop pulling him into blinding darkness. Tears sting the corners of his eyes and his wrists hurt from the strain of insistently pulling at the slats of the headboard. “Please,” again, on a whine.

“Shh,” Claude soothes, alarmingly softly, like trying to tame a wild animal. Perhaps that’s what Sylvain is, scared and desperate for comfort, lost in an almost foreign sensation. Every time, he forgets what it’s like. Every time, he is hurtled down the abyss of wanton need. Every time, Claude is there to catch him.

“Claude,” Sylvain whines, tightening his legs around Claude’s waist. He blinks his eyes open until his vision is clear, looking down at his bare body and Claude’s unfortunately clothed one. His chest rises and falls heavily, gasping on air as Claude works his fingers inside him. He curls them for just a moment and Sylvain moans, shifting his hips to get Claude deeper; but he’s not allowed it, and then it is gone. Sylvain wiggles his hips again, getting Claude’s sharp nails in his thigh for his efforts. His slick is probably ruining Claude’s trousers, and the thought throws Sylvain back, eyes squeezing closed and dick twitching painfully. “Oh, fuck.”

“Be patient.” Claude slips another finger inside of him, stretching him out thoroughly, as if Sylvain gave a flying fuck. He keens, something bubbling in his chest and making it hard to breathe. “You’ll get what you need soon, Sylvain. I promise.”

“Now,” Sylvain demands, yanking against the soft material binding his wrists. “I want it, Claude,  _ please _ . I’m ready. Enough.”

Claude pauses, then. Sylvain hates this even more. His fingers are deep inside him but unmoving; not even a tremble, unlike Sylvain. He shakes like a leaf from his head to his toes, which are curled in anticipation. Claude clears his throat. Then, finally: “Fine.”

He undoes his trousers until his dick springs free, hard and a furious red color. Sylvain gasps at the sight, at the scent of his musk pouring from underneath his clothes. He smells of figs and olives and cloves, earthy and grounding— and distracting, Sylvain finds, once the tip is sinking into his dripping hole without warning. He arches his back on a moan, Claude’s cock slipping deeper inside him at the movement. He’s thick and hot and perfect, almost everything Sylvain needs. 

Almost.

“You,” Sylvain gasps, elbows coming up above his ears, desperate. “I need— please, Claude—“

“Shhh.” Claude runs a hand down his chest, over his pretty, pink, sensitive nipples, trailing over his treasure trail, reaching his dick and wrapping his fingers loosely around it. Sylvain  _ howls _ , wiggling his hips and effectively fucking himself on Claude’s dick. “Come, Sylvain.”

Like a knee-jerk reaction to the command, Sylvain does just that. He comes, clenching around Claude’s dick and letting out a pathetic sob. “Claude,” he chokes out.

Claude is suddenly hovering above him, kissing his shoulders and untying his hands. Sylvain grabs onto his hair as soon as he’s free, petting Claude’s beard even though he hates (loves) the burns it leaves on his skin. “Claude,” he says again, near-delirious. “I love you so much.”

“Sylvain,” Claude groans, burying his face in Sylvain’s shoulder and starting to fuck Sylvain for real, pulling his hips away until Sylvain is whining and slamming back in. “Goddess, you’re beautiful.”

Normally, Sylvain would make a smart remark. Something along the lines of  _ the Goddess has nothing to do with this _ . As it is now, Sylvain only moans, the praise sinking into his skin like grime on a battlefield. The thought makes him hold Claude that much closer, chest heaving. “Say it back,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Claude hesitates, hips stuttering. Then: quicker, harder, like it’ll fill the hole in Sylvain’s heart. “I love you, Sylvain,” he says, strained. Sylvain moans and digs his nails into Claude’s shoulders, coming again. Claude presses in, his knot swelling on a strangled breath and comes, too. Sylvain is almost touched.

Almost.


End file.
